Chocolate Chip Cookies
by firestorm557
Summary: There are some things that he just can't handle any more...


A/N: Just a little thing that i thought of while re-watching the pilot episode with a friend. plus its been a while since i've posted a supernatural fic! i have another one in the works that should be up sometime in the next few weeks. so read and enjoy!!

i own nothing and it makes me sad...

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**Chocolate Chip Cookies**

It was 5 weeks since Jess had been killed, and they were driving who knows where to hunt for who knows what. Sam hadn't been paying that much attention when Dean had told him where they were going, and move your ass already, will ya Sammy? Sam snuck sideways glances at his brother as he slept. Sam had finally convinced Dean to get some much needed sleep after they had almost run off the road for the 3rd time. Dean had grumbles something about being one to talk about proper sleep, before reluctantly switching sides with Sam and settling into the passenger seat. That had been 3 hours ago and Sam was trying to pass the time.

His thoughts kept drifting between his dad and Jess. There had been no signal from dad in weeks, and his trail had gotten stone cold. And they were no closer to finding the thing that had killed their mom. And Jess. God, Jess, his thoughts never really strayed far from her. He saw her face everywhere, especially in his dreams. _Nightmares, more like. _No, he was not going to think about that right now. He needed to concentrate on driving.

Dean stirred several minutes later, trying to stretch out his frame in the confined area of the front seat. After several more minutes of grumbling and watch checking, he turned to Sam. "Where are we?"

"About 90 miles out. Another hour or so till we get to the big X on the map."

Dean nodded, seemingly ignoring the fact that Sam didn't remember the name of the place that they were headed to. "You hungry?"

Sam shook his head, not wanting to stop anywhere. "Nah, I'm good." But now Dean was looking around the floor of the front seat for something that must have made its way underneath the seat. "You should eat something Sammy."

"Yeah, cause that half a bag of stale chips in the back seat is really appetizing. Seriously dude, just forget it, I'm good."

A satisfied grunt from his right signaled the end of Dean's search, and Sam thought that he was going to just let it go. That is, until something was plunked down on his lap. "Just humor me Sam. Besides, I bought those special for you. I remembered that they were your favorite."

Keeping one hand on the wheel, he reached down and felt for the package. He found the cellophane covered parcel and was bringing it up to eye level when the smell hit him, and he knew without looking exactly what Dean had bought for him. His body was reacting before his mind had a chance to catch up.

He could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat even as the car was jerked to a stop on the side of the deserted highway, recognizing Deans shouts of panic and confusion. He was out the door in an instant, but only made it half-way around the car before he was driven to his hands and knees on the sharp unforgiving gravel. He heard the car door slam behind him as wave after wave of nausea passed over him, until all that he had left were dry heaves and a burning throat. He sagged into the arm wrapped around his chest, knowing that Dean wouldn't let him face-plant into his own mess. His other hand was rubbing small circles on his back.

"Come on Sammy; let's get you to a bed." Sam just nodded, glad that Dean didn't want to talk about it. His throat hurt. His head hurt. He just wanted bed. Twenty miles of silence and a bottle of water later, and Dean was shuffling Sam into their room and maneuvering him onto his bed.

"You know Sam, you could have just told me that you were sick instead of showing me the contents of your stomach. A much more compelling argument, I'll give you that, but dude, gross."

Sam just shook his head. "Dean, I'm not sick." But the hoarse sound of his voice did nothing to reassure his brother.

"Right, cause when your stomach revolts at the sight of food, it means that you're perfectly healthy. Funny how I've gotten that wrong for all these years."

Again, Sam shook his head. Dean didn't understand. "Dean, it's not ..."

"Yeah Sammy, I know, you're not sick. And that Winchester stubbornness is just a figment of my imagination. Here, throw these in your bag." Again, something plunked onto his lap. "You can have them tomorrow, or when you stop upchucking."

This time his mind was reacting before he registered his body. That sweet smell quickly morphed into the smell of smoke, of burning flesh. His eyes saw blond hair, fire. His skin felt the heat, the drops of blood on his forehead. He didn't even register that he had moved until his already abused knees were crashing onto the tile floor, and his throat burned as his stomach emptied itself yet again. After a couple of minutes of dry heaves, he gratefully accepted the cup of water that Dean was holding out to him and rinsed his mouth, before settling against the wall. He kept his eyes closed against the harsh bathroom light. He heard Dean move and flip off the switch, and he moved over a bit to make room for him when he felt Deans boot nudge his leg, but still his eyes remained closed. He knew that if he opened his eyes and Dean got a proper look at him, that he would see the kind of pain he was in. Physical pain he could deal with, he had been dealing with it for his entire life. But this…this wasn't something that he could put on Deans shoulders. Dean was already worried enough about him, and about dad. No need to keep letting him know how much of an emotional wreck his little brother was.

They sat there in silence, shoulders touching, for a while. But Sam knew that Dean could feel the tension flowing through his body, and that Dean being Dean meant that he was going to make Sam spill what was going on with him. He knew that he needed to talk about it. And he knew that as soon as Dean opened his mouth and asked him to he _would_ talk about it. He just wanted to enjoy the quiet for a little bit more.

It was another minute or so before the silence was broken. "Sammy, I need to know what's going on with you. I can't help you if I don't know what's going on in that freaky head of yours."

It was another minute before Sam responded, and when he did it came out as little more than a whisper. "Jess knew, too."

He knew without opening his eyes that the look on Dean's face would be one of confusion, but he waited for the question to come before he offered up any more. He was not disappointed.

"Jess knew what too?" He knew that Dean was looking at him now. He opened up his eyes and turned his head to look back at his brother, before answering. "She knew that they were my favorites, too." Sam knew that Dean now understood what he was referring to, but was still confused. This time he didn't wait for the question before continuing.

"When I walked into the apartment on Monday morning, there was a plate of them waiting for me with a note on top of it, telling me that she missed me. That she loved me. The whole apartment smelled like them. I was eating one when I walked into the bedroom. When everything went to shit."

Just talking about it made his stomach start to roll painfully, and he closed his eyes and breathed heavily to try and stem off another bout of nausea. He felt Dean snake a hand behind his neck and start to gently massage the muscles there. Sam leaned a little bit more into Dean's side.

"I'm sorry Sammy. I didn't know." Nope, this was not something that Dean got to blame himself for. This was all on Sam.

"It's kind of hard to know about something this stupid when I don't tell you Dean."

The gentle massage stilled for a fraction of a second before continuing. "It's not stupid, Sam. It's reaction. When something like that happens…it's not something that you just get over. You'll get better at dealing with it. But you'll never truly get over it."

Sam knew that Dean was straying into uncharted touchy-feely territory, trying to make him feel better. And telling Dean _had_ made him feel better. Not much, but better. So he decided to save him from going any deeper into the emotional self-help section of the conversation, and waited a beat before responding.

"You've been watching Dr. Phil again, haven't you?" The hand that was massaging his neck quickly turned into the hand that was smacking the back of his head as Dean stood. "Come on, geek-boy. Let's get you into bed." He helped him up and left him to brush his teeth. When he stepped back into the room he didn't even have to look to know that the package of cookies would have mysteriously vanished.

The next day Sam couldn't help but smile as he saw a group of birds pecking at a large pile of crumbs that had somehow found their way to the corner of the parking lot farthest from their room.

Let me know what you think!!


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